“Thank you.”
Hanna gazed straight ahead as Ulli drove the buggy toward her home. He had set her free. But even if she didn’t tell her parents the truth, they would be devastated. Not only would they lose the satisfaction of seeing their daughter married to a prosperous man, they would have a rejected woman on their hands. People would wonder why, and they would talk.
She would hold up her head and make the best of the situation, Hanna resolved. Still, one question lingered, like a secret whispered in her ear.
Now that I’m free, will it make any difference to Mason?
Another mile, which passed in awkward silence, brought them within sight of the Anderson homestead. Seeing movement, Hanna shaded her eyes and gazed ahead. “Everyone’s out in the yard, like they’re waiting for us. Something must’ve happened.”
By the time the buggy rolled into the yard, Hanna’s pulse was hammering. Her parents were waiting, along with the three younger children. Alvar would be at work. But the sawmill was a dangerous place where anything could go wrong. Could some terrible thing have happened to her brother?
As the buggy came to a stop, Hanna sprang out and ran to her mother. “What’s happened? Is it Alvar?” she demanded.
Inga’s eyes were wet. She shook her head. Her gaze traveled to Ulli, who was still in the buggy. Lars was striding across the yard to talk to him.
“We just found out, Ulli,” he said. “Those men, the ones we’ve been looking out for, they hit your place. They rode by, shot out a window, and tossed some dynamite into your new house. The explosion blew the walls apart.”
Ulli had gone white. “My children—?”
“The boys were outside. They’re all right. But your youngest, your little girl . . . she’s gone.”
How Ulli could keep from crumbling like a dry leaf in a bonfire Hanna would never understand. He had gone rigid, his knuckles white where his hand gripped the reins. “I have to get home. My children need me” was all he said before he drove away, whipping the horse with the reins.
As the news sank in, Hanna doubled over as if she’d been kicked. Sobs shook her body as tears of grief and shame washed over her. She remembered hearing the faint booming sound when she was in the alley, dismissing it as nothing. Now she knew what she’d heard. While she’d been kissing Mason, thinking only of her own pleasure, Ulli’s child had died.
* * *
It was Alvar who told Blake the next day. Blake had lent him a mare to travel the distance between the homestead and the sawmill. Alvar had arrived home last night to the news of the attack on Ulli Swenson’s property and the tragic death of his three-year-old daughter.
“You can imagine how people are feeling,” Alvar said. “My sister is in shock. She and Ulli were courting. He was finishing his house so they could marry. But she says that’s over now.”
So Ulli Swenson had been the man he’d seen briefly at the homestead, and later in town with Hanna—before Mason had lured her into the alley. Blake couldn’t help feeling relieved that Hanna wasn’t going to marry him. But Lord, no man deserved the kind of tragedy Swenson had suffered.
“They’ll be burying the little girl today. Then there’s talk of riding out afterward, tracking down those men, and killing them all.” Alvar shook his head. “Some of the men are saying we should’ve done that after the Gilbergs’ house was burned. Maybe then this wouldn’t have happened.”
He gazed at Blake, his eyes narrowing. “I know you meant to help us, and maybe you tried. But nothing’s been done. We already know the sheriff won’t do anything. What choice do we have except to take the law into our own hands, as you say?”
Blake had no reply, but that was just as well because at that moment, the first big log of the day was moved into the double rotating blades. The scream of steel biting into solid wood was loud enough to drown out any conversation.
Alvar hurried off to do his job, which was to help move a second log into place and have it ready when the first one was done. The log to be cut would be rolled onto a low metal carriage and bolted into place. The carriage, which ran on a pair of rails, would move the log through the circular saw blades.
With each pass through the blades, the log’s position had to be adjusted precisely for the next cut. This was done by the most skilled of the workers, known as a sawyer. The wood was cut off in slabs, which would later be sawed into boards of the desired width and hand finished as needed.
The saw, its double blades mounted one above the other, was steam driven, the fire in the boiler fed by the scraps and strips of bark that were trimmed off the logs. The work was strenuous, hot, noisy, and dusty. Blake paid his crew well, and they earned every cent. But they also took pride in a job well done. Premium lumber from the Dollarhide mill was smoothly and precisely cut, the boards perfectly matched.
Young Alvar was off to a good start. He was strong, quick to learn, easy to like, and not afraid of hard work. Blake was especially impressed with the way his mind took in the entire process of making lumber, not just the narrow task he’d been hired to do.
With some schooling, he could have a bright future anywhere. Sometime later, Blake told himself, he would have a talk with the young man. But right now, both he and Alvar had more urgent concerns on their minds.
Ulli Swenson’s sons had been outside when the raiders showed up. The fifteen-year-old had described the men in detail. There could be no doubt of their identity. It had been Hobie Evans and his gang.
Even though they’d probably assumed that the house was empty, the death of the child was murder. And the bastard putting up the money to pay them was as guilty as the ones who’d shot out the window and thrown the dynamite.
Ulli and his fellow homesteaders deserved justice. For them, the only way to get it would be to go after the gang and put a violent end to them—which would give their enemies an excuse to drive them out, soaking the land with blood on both sides. It would be the Johnson County War all over again.
Could the carnage be stopped? But this wasn’t his fight, Blake reminded himself. He did business with all sides—ranchers, homesteaders, and townspeople. He made it a rule to treat everyone the same. But this was his land, too, and his family’s land. These people were his neighbors. How could he just stand back and let the tragedy happen?
The Calders were the most powerful people in the county. Blake hadn’t cleared them of suspicion—but if they were behind the raids, how could they live with the death of a little girl?
When Blake had asked Webb for help, Webb had walked away. But there was one man who had the final say—the head of the family, Chase Benteen Calder. If anybody had the power to order the raiders rounded up and brought to justice, or order a halt to the violence, it was Blake’s father’s old rival.
After making sure that everything was in order at the mill, Blake mounted up and set out for the Calder place. A brisk wind had sprung up from the west, rippling the yellow grass and bringing a few muddy-looking clouds over the horizon. But Blake knew better than to hope for rain. He’d been disappointed too many times before.
Skirting the wheat fields, he glimpsed distant wagons, horses, and buggies all headed in the same direction. He remembered Alvar telling him that Ulli’s daughter was to be buried today. Once the sad little body was laid in the ground, grief would be replaced by outrage and anger. Blake imagined a band of farmers, armed with guns and ropes, riding out on the trail of the raiders, bent on vengeance.